Clovers and Blue Moons
by Rurouni-Wolf
Summary: He's a reluctant former professor. She's a dead guardian angel on vacation. The Joker is still a pain-in-the-ass, and Harvey still needs saving. Poor Gotham.
1. Chapter 1

Well, here it is: the sequel to _Hearts, Stars, and Horseshoes_, part of what I feel is going to be my Lucky Charms series. Honestly, I'm just shameless, aren't I? Speaking of shameless, here's a shameless plug: go read _Can't Get You Outta My Head_ by J-Horror Fan 4-ever right now. Seriously. It's amazing, she's one of the most talented writers I've ever seen, and her Joker-OC interaction is _priceless_.

Still, the same goes for _Clovers and Blue Moons_ as its predecessor: kick back your feet, grab some popcorn, and enjoy the ride. There will be gratuitous amounts of bad jokes, semantic puns, Dante vs. Joker standoffs, Bruce Wayne randomly destroying things, and Harvey Dent being, well, Harvey Dent. Alfred may or may not kick everybody's butt, I haven't decided yet. -- grins manically --

-- giggily,

RW

Disclaimer: I own nothing except everything not copyrighted. Does that make sense? If not, that's okay. That's what ninja are for.

* * *

I scuffled back into the apartment, tossing the keys onto the table and wincing at the fucking _huge_ gash alongside my ribs. Shallow, thankfully, but still it hurt like a motherfucker and I resigned myself to the feeling because Jonathan was nowhere in sight, it seemed. Typical.

I took the opportunity to have the apartment to myself—there was a microwave dinner with a brief note that said, simply, _'Eat. Doctor's orders. - Jonathan'_ which warmed the cockles of me heart, it did. Mwuahahaha. Too bad that he's a really terrible cook and somehow managed to screw up _Hot Pockets._ Seriously. I didn't even think it was possible.

The Joker was _finally_ behind the iron walls of Arkham, but I knew better than to rest with that knowledge... especially since I'd put him there _myself_. I needed to keep on my toes.

Hmm... tippy-toe kisses...

Grabbing a towel, I was happy to note that they were neither fluffy nor tear-your-skin-off rough. I liked mine inbetween, because who feels _dry_ with the fluffy ones? They don't absorb enough water, at least in my experience. They were white, like all of his linens (surprise surprise), and I had the distinct feeling that I was going to have to introduce Jonathan to _color_.

I eased into the shower, hissing as the pressure made contact with my wounds, but rolling with the flow so to speak. I made sure to get thoroughly clean, and dried off. Cinching the bathrobe around me, I heard sounds in the kitchen, so being the curious little thing that I am (and _yes_, it _has_ killed me a coupla times) I went off to investigate.

Jonathan was putting up some groceries, mostly bland health-food crap, and I shook my head.

Oh yeah. He definitely needed an intervention.

What fun!

"Jonathan, you and I need to have a little talk about what constitutes _food_ and what constitutes _burn cardboard_, sweetie."

Ignoring me, he continued putting the groceries up. Holy hell, I hadn't _died_ in the shower, had I? Because that would just _suck_, because I was on goddamn _vacation_.

Heads will roll.

Literally.

"Dante, I assume that you are responsible for the Joker's current incarceration?" Jonathan sighed, turning to study me from the corner of those big blue eyes of his.

Ooookaaay, not dead again after all. Yay me.

"Yep," I replied cheerfully. "I shot him in the crotch and then hit him with a shovel until he stopped moving," I nodded, grinning.

He blinked at me.

"You have somewhat... _violent_... tendencies," he noted cautiously.

"Only for the Joker," I replied sagely, "and that's because.. well... I'm not sure if _history_ is the right word, but it's the only one I can think of right now. I'm pretty sure that I have a concussion from when he slammed my head repeatedly against the wall."

"Not again," Jonathan muttered.

Walking over to where I was in danger of falling off the edge of the couch, he scowled as he felt my head. Silently he walked over, brought over the biggest fucking needle I've _ever_ seen, and stuck it in my arm. Yelping, I glared at him while he glared back.

"No wonder you _gas_ people," I muttered.

"What was that?" he cupped his ear, vile needle still in his hand.

"Freakin' psychopath," I mouthed underneath my breath.

"I heart that," came the flat accusation.

"Who are you, _God_?" I demanded incredulously.

"I've worked with the mentally deranged before," he deadpanned, lips twitching.

"Oh, ha ha, very fucking funny. Dude, what the _hell_ did you _shoot me up _with?" I asked, suddenly feeling... floaty. It was a very strange and liberating feeling. Almost like being a ghost again.

"Just a little morphine to take the edge off of that gash that no, you did not hide successfully at _all_. I imagine that the pain must be almost unbearable," he smirked.

Oohhh, he was messing with the _master_. Poor little Crane.

"Are you, ah, _all a-flutter_ over _lil ol me_?" I slunk over, reaching up to tangle my hands clumsily—yet still seductively... I think... — into his thick black locks. Mmm. Smelt like Herbal Essence. Man's got good taste, no matter what psychological turmoil he might be in.

Waaaaaiiiiit for it... ah. _There_ it was. Panic.

"This is—is—highly inappropriate, Dante," he started trying to push me away.

Me, however, being the smart little vixen I am, have my hands entwined with his hair. If he gets violent, the man will be bald. He realized this, and though he doesn't relax _at all_, he stops fighting it. Eventually I grow bored and let go, while he escapes into his office.

I hear the distinct sound of the lock ticking into place.

"Coward!" I yell after him, grinning manically.

"Bitch!" he yells back crossly.

Ahh... fun times, fun times.

* * *

It's been a little more than a week, and _just_ when I think that Gotham's got a rat's ass of a chance, the Joker breaks out. Which means, of course, that yours truly feels absolutely _compelled_ to beat the living shit out of him and vice versa.

The Joker, of course, escaped through the _sewage system_, so I basically just follow the _smell—_and oh, _what_ a smell it is—to a little nursery school on the edge of the Narrows. I start to see red, because those kids will be _traumatized for life_ just from the _smell_ of the Joker, let alone his... Joker-ness.

I watch in admiring approval as a little sprite of a woman (what, 5'2? Taller than me, anyways) leaps on the desk and threatens the _Joker_ with a plastic _bucket_. Got chutzpah, I'll give her mad props for that. She's gotta be at least twenty-one, twenty-two, though she pulls off looking a lot younger.

"A little fight in you, I like th—YOU!" the Joker roars when he sees me peeking through the window. I give a little bland smile, and a little one-fingered wave. You know the kind, the ones you give in traffic.

He lunges for me, nevermind the glass, and I'm giggling like an idiot because he's almost _flying_ through, then hits it, and is like, "how did that get there?" I just open up a window on the other end of the classroom and laugh my ass off.

"If you like a little fight, then I'm your fucking _soulmate_," I sniggered.

"Now _there's_ a horrifying thought," he sneered, starting to inch towards me.

"Ah ah ah," I wag my finger at him, bringing out my trusty little bow and arrow.

He stares at me incredulously.

"A _bow and arrow_? I'm downright _**insulted**_," he charges.

I just keep smirking. Meanwhile, of course, since the teacher is _smart_, she is quietly evacuating all of the children. Which is good because things tend to get real violent real quick whenever the Joker and I are in the same city, let _alone_ the same _room_.

I release the arrow, where it opens up and lets out a little flag that says "BANG!" on it. He stares at it, and then starts that wheezing laughter of his that _gets on my last nerve_.

"Ho, ha, hee, hum, oh, ho, ha, and I thought _my_ jokes were bad."

Then it explodes and he goes _flying_ through the _wall_, and I get that warm and fuzzy feeling that I do whenever I see him in agony. I'm a vindictive little thing, and I am hell-bent on destroying this—this _idiot_. I calmly call the police and wait until I hear the sirens before kicking the Joker in the head, hard as I can, and then exiting. I've arranged all of the nursery blocks to say "GA WUZ HERE THE JOKER GOT PWNED HE SUXS BALLS" and _yes_, the grammar horrifies me, but I figure that it should give the profilers something to have a heart attack over.

I'm nice that way.

Whistling, I dust myself off and go on about my merry way.

This vacation is going to be _fun_.

"--and just in, BREAKING NEWS! It seems that the mysterious vigilante, GA, has once again stopped the Joker in his tracks! Police and SWAT captured the Joker at a nursery school, where a teacher says that an unidentified person saved them all. The only statement she released to the media was that "GA is my kinda person" and then helped with the school's evacuation. District Attorney Harvey Dent has issued his personal thanks to the GA, while also stating that if GA would merely work with the police then the public outcry might--"

I click off the radio of my beloved Jeep, and it hits me—I have _shopping_ to do!

Frantically buying up everything I need, I stumble through the doors of Jonathan's apartment with my arms loaded down with packages. He does absolutely _nothing_ to help me, sneaky little bastard, but does give me that raised eyebrow of his that demands answers.

"Here ya go," I toss him a few boxes. "I had to guess on the sizes, but what the hell, kept the receipt."

He pulls out the tuxedo, and then stares at me openmouthed.

"We're crashing a wedding next week," I announce cheerfully.

Groaning into his hands, he once again disappears into his office where I hear the distinct sound of head hitting wood. Oh well. At least I didn't get the powder-blue one.


	2. Chapter 2

Well, here's the next part. 0-0 H'yah, I'm tired. School's been eating me alive, and I've been trying to eat Nik whenever I get the chance. Heheh. -- laughs devilishly -- How I love my Greek godling. :3

Dedicated, as per almost always, to J-Horror Fan 4-Ever, and her story _Can't Get You Outta My Head_.

Go. Read it now. It much pwneth my poor Lucky Charms jingle story.

And no, I am _not_ anti-environmentalist. This is Dante; she's pretty much anti-anything, on any given day. Just because she's dead and doesn't give a flying fuck (hmm... interesting position... I wonder... -- fox ears pop up -- ) about what anybody thinks anymore, if she ever did. This _is_ Dante we're talking about. -- grins sheepishly --

As always, feel free not to take this seriously, kick your feet back, and enjoy.

Disclaimer: All things copyrighted are obviously not owned by me. I own simply Dante (well... she owns _me_, really, but it's all semantics) and the interactions therein.

... -- snickers -- Harley Quinn. Ahh... If Dante ever gets through the computer screen, I am dead in horrific and horrible ways. XD

-- deviantly,

RW

_

* * *

__Peace._

_Finally._

_All of the suffering... all of the pain... all of the tears... drifting... just... out of... reach..._

_It was finally over._

_I took her hand and guided her into the warm light..._

"Dante, you're snoring. Shut up."

I fell off the couch onto the floor, my dignity and butt bruised. Glaring up at him, I rubbed my butt, which I was sure was going to bruise _horribly_. Stupid sexy insane psychologist. Nyaah.

I stuck my tongue out at him, while he clicked his tongue at me condescendingly. I considered teaching the little skinny-ass punk a lesson, but decided that his ass looked _much_ nicer on his lean body than in pieces all over the carpet.

Groggily, I shook my head, trying to clear the memories away. It was hard, sometimes; the lives overlapped and intersected, and time slipped away like sake upon a grave...

Time has no meaning when you're dead.

Please understand what exactly that means. Try imagining time as not A-B-C as we see it when we're alive, but understand that sometimes it's R-A-3-T etc. The past affects the future, and the future affects the past. Yeah. Non-linear time. Ain't it grand?

Ha. Ha. Fucking. Ha.

Muttering about needing fresh air (with a pointed look at Jonathan's latest failed attempts at _not_ horribly burning... whatever that charred substance was), I admit freely that I was looking for something... interesting. Which in my case usually means something incredibly violent. Hey, whatever floats your boat...

I wanted to—to—_beat somebody_. I felt aggressive, tight, on-edge. The Joker was _supposedly_ still in Arkham, but considering the security in that place was riddled with more holes than a college frat boy's sock, I had my doubts. Harvey's wedding was just a little over a week away, and I wouldn't breathe again until they were on their honeymoon in Metropolis. Let Superfr—er, Superman deal with the Wonder Twins for awhile. He'll be screaming for kryptonite by the end of the two weeks.

So there I was, minding my own business, when I see _her_.

Yeah. The redhead with enough curves to make any woman feel inadequate.

She was busy berating somebody over how their products damaged the environment blah blah blah. More environmentalist crap. I'm not anti-green, really. Hell, I've seen for myself how the planet was pre-Industrial Revolution, how good ol' Earth manages to survive for another coupla eons, but that's as far as I've ventured. Any time people go through a Nekkid is Natural phase, ohohohohhh no. Nononononono. There are some people that I would _love_ to see naked. Most people do not qualify for that. Most people cause me to seriously consider setting my eyes on fire.

"Look, as much as I mostly approve of random violence against stupid people, lady, seriously—he's almost dead. Stop kicking him."

Raising an elegant eyebrow at me, she looked down her nose at me... literally. Damn my incredible shortness.

"And you are...?" she inquired in a husky drawl.

"Bored, mostly," I shrugged.

Apparently, that amused her, because she had a good laugh. This, of course, mildly annoyed me and slightly pissed me off. I hate people laughing at something when I don't get the joke. Or when I _am_ it, and I don't know why.

Basically, I just hate people.

Funny thing, for being a guardian angel.

Deal.

"Well, whatever are two bored women to do?" she asked, eyes glinting amusedly.

I raised an eyebrow in response. Oookkaaaay... what exactly did GA and Poison Ivy do together when we're both aggravated and bored?

"What did you have in mind?" I asked warily.

After all, I'm still on vacation. I have a whole lifespan to relax and... _play_... and I don't intend to let little miss Red fucking Riding Hood _poison_ me for kicks.

"A little mayhem, a little justice against corporations that are killing off a rare and endangered flower native only to Gotham to make an alcoholic beverage for the rich..."

Oookkaaaaay... So we're going to blow up things and beat up people over some _flowers_...

See what I mean about environmentalists?

"Um... sure... I guess. What, standard bash-and-trash?" I inquired casually.

She grinned at me, and I couldn't help being reminded of a Venus fly-trap's smile. Wide and toothy. Not very flattering at all, but she managed to pull it off without looking like she was having trouble expelling waste matter.

"Haha. I like your sense of humour, Ragdoll."

I choked on absolutely nothing, gasping at the nickname. Okay, okay, so I haven't exactly had time to keep up with whatever fashion trends were around. I'd mostly nicked my clothes from used clothing stores because most of my money had to go towards keeping the Joker in the hospital, mental or otherwise. Still, the insinuation pissed me off royally.

"Or should I say, _Harley Quinn_?"

... what the fuck?

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I demanded angrily.

"Well, word on the street is..." she stretched languidly, "... is that you and the Joker are in a lover's spat that's _exploding_ out all over Gotham," she shrugged innocently.

Twitch.

Twitch.

"I. AM. GOING. TO. _MURDER_. WHO. EVER. STARTED. THAT. RUMOR," I grit my teeth, utterly enraged. I cannot tell you the depths of my fury.

The motherfucker was going to be _eviscerated_.

"I can't tell you who started it, but there's a running bet as to who goes crawling back to who. So far, it's about evenly matched," Poison Ivy chuckled huskily.

"The. Joker. And. I. Fucking. _HATE_. _EACH. OTHER. WITH. A. DEPTH. THAT. IS. FUCKING. UNKNOWN_," I screeched like the banshee I am.

Poison Ivy shook her head, laughing softly. The red tresses glinted, and now I officially hated her too because honestly, _shoot the messenger_ is a phrase for a fucking _reason_.

Was I jealous? Noooo... not a bit...

Twitch.

"If your little epileptic fit is over, I can tell you that the name _Ragdoll_ is due to your... association... with the former Dr. Crane," she sighed long-sufferingly.

Ohh lady, you don't even _know_ suffering yet...

"Jonathan?" I blinked. "Well, okay then. But I'm seriously going to hunt down the person who had the fucking bright idea that the Joker and I have anything other than deep and abiding hate between us and _hang him with his own intestines. While they are still attached to his body_," I informed her with dark cheer.

She applauded.

"I hate the man myself," she grinned toothily again, "so I fully support your endeavors in shortening his lifespan. Myself, men like Bruce Wayne catch my eye."

Oh, I'll bet they did. Tall, dark, broody, and filthy fucking rich. Lotta poison shit you could buy with that, little miss Red.

Irony, how I love thee.

I'd give my right kidney to see her try it. Assuming, of course, that I still had it. Some days, I wasn't sure.

"So, how about an alliance? As far as I can tell, beyond your strange overprotection of Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes aside, I cannot find a single instance of anything heroic you've done, besides coincidental occurrences resulting from your battles with the Joker. And you obviously have no problem with Dr. Crane."

"Well, that's because the man is dead sexy," I shrugged.

She blinked.

"I... suppose that's as valid a reason as any. At least you're not attracted to the Joker."

I shuddered.

"Excuse me, I have to introduce the insides of my stomach to the toilet. I believe they're about to become very good friends," I muttered, only half-joking.

Honestly. The thought is downright _nauseating_.

"Considering that you're certainly not the heroine that everybody seems to believe you are—that, or a psychotic lover on the breaks with the Joker, or Scarecrow's lover—why not join forces?"

"I never pretended to be a hero," I shrugged, "and I certainly never wanted the people of Gotham to see me as that. I simply do what has to be done. Me? I'm on vacation. I have no further agenda than that."

Which was a complete lie, of course. I certainly _did_ have an agenda, most notably keeping a rather sharp eye (and sharper aim) on one Harvey Dent and his expectant bride-to-be/carrier-of-his-spawn, and cheerfully beating the shit out of the Joker (and unfortunately having the shit beaten out of me), and hopefully, with some luck, seducing the quite delectable Dr. Jonathan Crane.

Apparently, I'm a better liar than I thought, or she sucks at knowing when people lie.

Or she doesn't give a rat's ass.

"Does this mean we have an accord?" she held out a slim, pale hand.

I just looked at it.

"Nope. Not a bit. But thanks for the offer," I called over my shoulder as I walked off.

No thank-you. Not to sound like some emo angst-addled vigilante (_one_ in a fucking _bat costume_ was enough for even Gotham aka the mental institution of the universe) but I work alone. It's just something that you get used to when being a dead guardian angel: you're used to working unseen in the shadows.

Well... I was like that before I died too. I liked doing things myself. It ensured that the chance that they were going to be fucked up much smaller.

What can I say? I'm pragmatic. People, on the whole, are incredibly stupid.

I could hear her muttering incredulously to herself, but I ignored her. Actually, I felt much more cheerful now that all of my need for violence was directed towards the poor fool who'd stared the whole _Harley Quinn_ fiasco.

I had absolutely no pity for the fate I was about the inflict upon him.

Mwuahahaha. Let the hunt begin.

I dragged myself through the door, collapsing next to Jonathan on his beige couch. (I still need to introduce that man to _color_.) Utterly exhausted, I curled up next to him, snuggling up.

He regarded me in aghast horror.

"... _why_ do you smell like _primal terror_?" he demanded silkily, voice deepening.

Ahh. So Scarecrow was coming out to play.

Fun times. Fun times.

"Oh, I had to deal with a _gossip_," I replied darkly, smiling widely. "And I had to teach him just how _wrong_ it was to spread nasty _rumours_ about _nice people_. Unfortunately he was quite _dense_ and a _slow learner_, so I had to resort to _harder measures._"

Jonathan gave a wide, sly grin, all deviousness. His blue eyes shone with excitement for the first time since I'd known him.

"Did he _scream_? Did he _cry_? Did he _soil himself_?" he demanded hungrily.

I gave him a slow, burning grin in return.

I'm not a nice person. Yes, I'm a guardian angel, and yes, my primary goal in afterlife is to make sure my charges are protected from two-bit whackjobs like the Joker, but _I am not a nice person_.

Just to be clear.

"Oh, he _screamed_ and he _screamed_, until his _vocal cords_ just simply _wore out_. He _cried_ so _hard_ that he couldn't _breathe_. He just _gasped_ and _choked_. The poor man _begged_ in the end, said he had a _family_, but he _hurt them_ because of _the pills_ and _the mistress_. He _beat them_, so I figured that I was _doing them a favor_. They'll find him in his _own garage_, hanging from a _noose_."

"What," Jonathan giggled, "is it _made_ of?"

"_His own intestines. They're still attached, I think_."

He let out a loud, sniggering sort of laugh, the kind that would make you think of somebody crying except that there is _zero sentiment_ in it. It's an insane sort of laugh, the kind that's all silky smooth at first until you realized that you've just walked on razorblades.

I like that about my Dr. Crane. Elegance and refinement hide the madness that lies just below the polished surface.

I leaned close against him, letting the faint heat of him sooth me into a faint sleep. Dozing for a bit, I woke up with a start when he stood up, damn near falling off the couch again.

"F'ckoo," I muttered incoherently.

Sighing, I watched as he tried on the tuxedo.

"Honestly, Dante. A _navy_ tuxedo?" he sighed, shaking his head.

"Midnight blue," I corrected. "And it brings out your eyes. Stop preening, you little metrosexual bastard, you know you like it."

He gave me a smirk, admiring his reflection. Which was odd, considering that the man had absolutely _horrible_ self-image and even _worse_ self-esteem. Probably I was rubbing off on him.

Yay me!

Silently, we watched each other in companionable silence.

Poor Gotham. I was Dante, Ragdoll, and, yes, _Harley fucking Quinn_ now.

I'm still on vacation. Let Bruce get off his rich tight ass and give a damn.

... I need a drink.


End file.
